


Congratiolations, it's a Unit (s)

by theAsh0



Category: The Murderbot Diaries - Martha Wells
Genre: Babies, Feels, Fluff, Gen, baby SecUnits, babySecUnits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29939415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theAsh0/pseuds/theAsh0
Summary: Art is bored.SecUnit is annoyed.Somehow, a solution to Art's problem is found.SecUnit thinks it preffered it when it was still just annoyed.
Relationships: Asshole Research Transport & Murderbot (Murderbot Diaries)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 30
Collections: baby SecUnits!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> The BabySecUnits depicted in this fic are property of their creators, down on the discord server.  
> I didn't create any, just had to write about finding them. Hopefully, all the colorfull ways these Units are already alive will be shared soon!

“Art, I fucking swear. This is the last time I’m acompanying you on these fucking cargo hauls.” And if I sound rude? Fucking  _ mad _ about it?  _ Good.  _ I keep my plasma gun aimed at the next corner and send a drone on ahead. It signals an all clear.

Art’s reply over the feed is almost prim.  _ ‘But the crew all agreed I have statistically a 46.34% chance of doing something unsafe if left in my own head more than three standard cycles.’ _

“And yet, with me aboard, you still continue to make unsound decisions.”

I’m not even going to go into the fact that it went off course without consulting me. Continued off that course for over  _ five cycles, _ and then informed me I was expected on the shuttle to board a floating vessel that was emitting an emergency distress signal.

I creep against the wall, then turn the corner, gun raised. Dark but still corridor greets me. I let out a small sigh, resisting the urge to lean my back against the wall as all my organic parts released their tension in one fell swoop. “All clear. That was the last possible spot for survivors.” 

In fact, all evidence indicates there has not been any life-form aboard for at least a decade. In no galaxy was Art, who makes supercomputer look stupid, not aware of this before hand.

_ ‘How unfortunate,’  _ I’m not sure if it actually expects me to take its mock shock at face value, but whatever. 

I wrinkle my nose under my helmet. “Corporation Rim assholes deserve all they got.” I put away my plasma gun into my back holster and head towards the boarding shuttle. “Too bad about the ComfortUnits, they all ran out of energy or air.”

If only they’d gone back to their cubicles they might have survived until rescue. But even if their human clients would have allowed it, I can understand why they would have prefered just to stay sentient till the end, instead of a likely fate of drifting through space unaware until the ship fell into a star or something. Everything I find aboard points to the fact that these people were aware that rescue would not be coming, and they must have chosen to spend their last days — or, likely, years— in whatever luxury they could get their hands on. 

“Well, check the cargo holds, will you SecUnit? There’s supposed to be a shipment of SecUnit parts in there. They could prove useful, as they contain basic components my replicators cannot copy.” 

I affect another sigh, leaning on it in the feed. “Is this why I’m  _ really  _ here? Data and recourse gathering? This cargo haul is just boring you out of your mind again, isn’t it? That’s why you are inventing side-projects.” 

For someone with such a giant brain, Art takes an amazingly short time to go crazy in its own mind. Of course, it moves through that brain at an unimaginable pace. If there’s one thing that will drive it mad, it’s having no-one to talk to. I wonder how it ever got through those cargo-runs it must have been on without me. Well, that question does kind of explain why Art let a rogue SecUnit which it knew next to nothing about onboard in the first place.

Perhaps, to show it how unamused I am with it, I’ll stop talking to it for a few minutes. No, maybe not. It’s very possible me ignoring it for seconds is what’s caused this little side trip to begin with. 

And now I’m in the holds, and I’ve got to start hauling boxes. A few of Art’s cargo bots are exiting the shuttle, but they’ll need my help to maneuver the boxes out of the hold before they can be much help. The space is packed full, and some boxes and crates were messily opened by the humans that must have survived the initial core meltdown and come down here to find food. Opened package and unidentified fluids litter the floor, and it’s a good thing I’m wearing my helmet. The atmosphere is unbreathable, but I cannot help but imagine the smell. “Art, I really hate you right now.”

I’m three layers in before I find a box labeled “SecUnit.” But at a glance I can already tell it’s not parts. For one thing, the box is too big. For another, unlike most of the other crates, this one has had a wide berth from the initial survivors. 

_ Or course it has,  _ considering the contents. “Art…” I manage, then stop talking. There is more than one crate, all shiny and new and stickered, to proudly indicate these are not refurbished Units. No, these are pure, factory made fresh.

_ ‘What is it, SecUnit?’ _ Art, leaning in a little more forcefully.

_ ‘SecUnit, please don’t ignore me. I’m probably going to do something stupid if you do.’ _

I Ignore Art, and start hauling crates. 


	2. these are not the parts I sent you for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> definitely not the parts.

Art usually calls me by my feed name. Then, if in human company, SecUnit. I think it might have been hailing me for a while, but I only register when it calls out, through its speakers, “ _ Murderbot, _ ” in a kind of evil dooms-day voice. 

I flinch and nearly fall off the crate I’d been inspecting. Sixteen. Sixteen SecUnit transport crates, fresh from the production line. 

I wasn’t even ignoring it on purpose. I’m not actually  _ angry _ with Art. Not anymore at least. Or perhaps I am, but I can no longer process that emotion because the one I am having right now is too big and nameless and  _ in the way. _

At least Art's reaction indicates it didn’t set this up on purpose. I am not sure I could deal with that right now. All my work memory is very busy with that Big Emotion I am still having. I still do not have a name for it, but it feels like not getting any oxygen. Which my sensors assure me is impossible.

Did I just fucking do this? Did I just hijack sixteen SecUnits? I mean, I might be off inventory, but these sure aren’t. Then again, the ship has been adrift beyond the outreaches of occupied space for long m, long years. It must have been calculated that it was cost-inefficient to salvage or mount a rescue mission. Even the ComfortUnits had run out of batteries, or run out of air and died. It must have been decades. Perhaps the company has already written off the loss and forgotten about them.

Cut off a loss and left floating in space. For ever, all alone. 

The Big Emotion worsens.

_ ‘Are these the parts I sent you for?’  _ Art asks, again, leaning in the feed, _ ‘they do not look much like the parts I sent you for.’ _

The Units inside are in deep sleep, at least. That is a blessing. Although there’s no telling if they were boxed this way, or if they went into hibernation at some point during the catastrophic failure of the ship engines, or sometime in the years— no, decades— of despair that must have followed.

I’m hoping for the first, but my experience with Corporations… At least all the boxes seem undamaged. Except one, in the back of Art’s furthest transport bot. Still, it’s just a bad dent. The contents  _ could _ be undamaged. 

_ Could _ be. The Unit inside could be dead as well. They could  _ all _ be dead, batteries powered completely down or a kill-switch pulled or an automated message from SecSystems altering their inert systems that there are no humans alive within prescribed distance and all their brains need to be fried… 

My fingers are already digging into the box's release hatch, though I’m making no headway without the release codes. “Art,  _ please _ help.” Then, “No, wait. You have to shut down their Governor Modules first.”

As soon as the SecUnits become active, Governor Module will  _ definitely _ realise there’s not an official client alive within the next lightyear. Even if it hasn’t hurt any of them yet, those Governor Modules are going to  _ fry their brains _ before any of them remember they had a brain to fry in the first place. 

At least, that’s what I would expect to happen. I’m not even sure. I have no memories of my early days, and absolutely nil communications stored with a young Unit. Not that I would have asked it “hey, how are you fitting in,” or “so how’s your first contract treating you?” or anything alike, even if I had.

(Not that I would have gotten an answer, except maybe a red flag to an overseer. SecUnits are not supposed to communicate without an in between HubSystem, and as a rule they prefer not to.)

Whatever. I notice I’m frozen, waiting for Art to object to turning them on. Tell me it’s not safe. Or tell me I should give them a choice, when it comes to turning off their Modules. All that self determination crap it’s been on about lately. (What choice is there? Hello, welcome to life. Would you like it with or without brain-frying pain and terror? What’s that you ask? Here’s a demonstration.)

But Art doesn’t object. It just does something through the feed, pushing an automated patch into their system aptly named Approved_Official_RunNow.exe and cycles all sixteen boxes through their wake-up procedures.

Within seconds I can feel the presence of sixteen new entities in the feed. A moment later their boxes click open, in unison, SecUnits folding out, straightening from their transport position. Only my box is on the floor, the rest still on the transport drone’s platforms, but none seem to have any trouble leaving their boxes. The Unit in front of me stands up straight and stares down at me, the others come down from the sides as well, and line up quietly. 

“Greetings,” they say in unison, the text obviously from their buffers. “I am your SecUnit.”

Then the one in the middle, the one I’d been unpacking looks around hesitantly. And says, “SecUnits?” 

And there’s a bit of shifting, in the space of which another SecUnit whispers, “we?” 

And it occurs to me I didn’t think this through  _ at all _ . SecUnits aren’t usually unpacked like this, all together at once. It’s obviously playing hazard with their limited pre-programmed responses, and their grammar Module is, shitty as it is, objecting to their phraising.

And now they’ve  _ already _ broken protocol and the two that had spoken up should have been shocked already. Which the Units do seem aware of, as they wait for the other shoe to drop. (Whether it’s by some instinct or if they’ve already had their Modules tested in the factory and remember is impossible to say.)

It just seems like a really, really, bad time to dispute the one truth they can hold onto and tell them:  _ no, you are definitely not my SecUnits. _

So I don't. Instead i just stand there, looking stupid. The center of attention. Very  _ unwanted _ attention.

_ "Did you at least bring the supplies I asked you for?"  _ Art interrupts out loud, making my internal crises public, like the asshole it is. At least Art pulls away the Unit's attention, as they become actively aware of it, and its feedpresense. They quest on, overly curious, looking for a SecSystem, a HubSystem and whatever else they can find.

Art humors them, throwing up a message-board like feed named HubSys, which does not work at all like an actual HubSystem. This is more like a general info and discussion board, not a System that dishes out tasks in response to received reports and human requests. (SecUnits only get to make requests in prescribed circumstances.) 

But Art nor the other Units seem aware of how this System is faulty, and this somehow upsets me again. “No Art. and stop pestering me about it. I think we have some more important things to worry about, don’t you?” 

Did I say that out loud? I think it was out loud. And now SecUnits are definitely all looking at me again.  _ Even more _ now. It’s unbearable. Apparently, none of them are shy about looking at my face at all.  _ None _ of them.

Art takes pity on me and uses its new public feed to address everyone.  _ ‘Welcome aboard. I am Perihelion. We are glad to have you. Any questions you might have can be direct-lined to me. Or upped to the HubSys requests boards. Please report to me now your current diagnostics and battery life.’  _

And that’s... At least a useful way to keep them busy for a little while. To me privately, however, Art says.  _ ‘You do realise, mentally and biologically, these are babies?’ _

Art always manages to get my hackles up. It’s something about the way it phrases things, combined with just a hint of condensation. Or maybe I’m imagining that.  _ ‘They are completely operational murderbots. Just, you know…, without any practical knowledge.’ _

_ ‘And only with their crummy modules to guide them,’  _ Peri continues, like I’d been agreeing with it.  _ ‘The Modules..., and _ **_us._ ** _ ’ _

They  _ are _ pretty shitty modules. Art has a point there. It doesn’t even have to say:  _ they are completely dependent on us. _ Art doesn’t have to. I am aware. Painfully aware. 

Also, one of the fresh SecUnits has apparently finished uploading its status and battery life and is now studying a play of light on the wall. It’s not quite yet reaching out to touch it, but I can see its fingers twitching. 

This is a terrible, terrible mistake.

_ ‘Okay, yes.’  _ I concede.  _ ‘They are babies. So?’ _

_ ‘Do you have any knowledge about babies at all?’ _

“You  **know** I don’t.” I might have said that out loud, because all the SecUnit’s eyes are on me once more. I must have gone lax in self-control, with only Art to catch me and no worry over getting caught breaking any protocols. Still, I need to become more aware. Several of the SecUnits look startled and distressed over me raising my voice. They might have stared at me blank-eyed before, a few definitely look scared now. 

I try to smile reassuringly. This is going to be hard.

Art sounds smug.  _ ‘Iris was mostly raised on board. The first thing a parent needs to know is: always bring the baby bag.’ _

Babybag?

_ What. _

_ The. _

_ Fuck. _

“I am not their mother.” I manage to smile while saying it. Smile through gritted teeth. Then I send some rude emojis to Arts private feed.

Most of the SecUnits still look a little distressed. But one at the side hesitantly smiles back.

Oh, we are all so fucked. 

I look down and away, changing tacs and looking at them through the camera’s instead. Maybe it’s one of those monkey-see, monkey-do things, I don’t know? Anything to stop them staring at me with alternating expressions of shy adoration and budding trepidation.

_ ‘The baby bag is the most important thing. It has toys, a bottle, diapers..,’  _ Art continues on as I zone out. My strategy seems to work somewhat. The SecUnits are no longer staring at me.

Instead, they are finding other things to look at, all over Art. I do not have enough drones or high enough resolution to exactly see what’s taking their attention. But they are obviously all finding other things, and those things are apparently interesting enough to take all of their attention.

By the time Art is done explaining to me the use and contents of a baby bag, only about half the Units are still in formation. Instead, they are wandering, hesitantly loitering about. Gravitating towards points of interest on the floor, on the walls. Some are still in place but are scouring through Art’s feeds, looking for access to cameras and systems. Art humors one with a camera, another with a perfectly made up security system.

Their behavior is already so far removed from anything I’d coin normal SecUnit behavior, that I am almost willing to just follow Art’s lead in all of this. I do still have one complaint, however:  _ ‘SecUnits don’t eat, and we most certainly do not poop.’  _

I do not understand why a little spot on the wall or the play of reflections on a tile interests these SecUnits. It all just seems so anomalous to me. I wonder what their threatAssesment and riskAssesment modules are doing, why they are not more careful. Then I realise, the threatAssesment must be telling them there are 0 clients right now, in exactly 0 percent danger. And their riskAssessment is probably over-the-hills happy with this, as there is no impending punishment for losing sight of these non-existent clients either. 

_ ‘I am aware a conservative baby bag would not be very useful. But you yourself do tend to lose a lot of parts,’  _ Peri continues, not discouraged at all. ‘And it doesn't seem likely this lot will have much better preservation instincts.’ 

I can feel Art’s indication of a pair of Units situated to the side. They apparently have grown tired of the floor and walls and are now staring at each other from a  _ very small distance. _

That.. doesn't seem like a good idea.

Especially not when the stares turn into scowls, and one steps even closer, so close they would need only to raise their arms to touch. I quickly step in between them, and they fall back. And when Art admonishes them in the feed, they both look away, abashed. 

But a different feud is already brewing. Another SecUnit has found the SecUnit playing with the fake Security System, and there’s a virtual tug-of-war going on for control.

Art fixes the problem, splitting the system into half and somehow filling both up to run as smoothly as ever. 

Yes, I am out of my depth. But, as much as I am already confused by these Unit’s behavior, I can see we will not be able to keep them from physically grappling for long. Even with Art's constant supervision. And when SecUnits fight…,  _ ‘we’ll need the parts?’ _

_ ’We will need all the parts we can get,’ _ Art pauses, ‘ _ in fact, that one Unit’s left leg might already need to be completely replaced.’  _

I start around, and find the damaged one at the end of the line. It’s still standing, but that leg definitely won’t hold up for more than a slow hobble. Also, armor? We might at least be able to acquire some armor. They are all in their suitskins right now. And guns? What is a SecUnit without a good plasma weapon?

Well, fine. “SecUnits, line up.” at least I can keep them busy a little while. “First mission, secure and retrieve.” 


	3. distractions of being

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they are.. different.

Before I’m allowed to send the BabyUnits (Art’s term,  _ not _ mine) aboard the ghost vessel, Art demands that me and the cleaning bots clear the halls of bodies, and Art locks the compartments and rooms that house the rest of the corpses. Because apparently, SecUnits should not be subjected to such trauma at such a young and impressionable age? 

I try to argue that they are  _ SecUnits, _ and going out and facing death decay and danger (none here) are exactly what they were made to do. But Art pauses for that 2.84 seconds that mean it’s giving me room to clear my mind, then launches into a whole manifest of the impressionable nature of young organic brain matter, and the importance of their formative years. It cites research dating anywhere from last month to five centuries back and I, well...

There’s not much point arguing with Art. Not when it starts quoting  _ science _ and  _ research  _ at you. And it’s definitely faster to just give in? Whatever, I am in no mood to argue the ethics of sending new-borns into potentially traumatic environments and considering the amount of info I have about any of these subjects. (nil, except potentially traumatic environments. And for those, only practical experience and some lousy general info about how to extract human clients from them). 

So I give Art the middle finger, right at its favorite camera, and then go ahead and lead the cleaning bots out to the halls first, hiding the few bodies out in the halls and closing any rooms and quarters with corpses in them. I also restore basic power and a minimal atmosphere and lighting because the SecUnits do not have any armor and no helmets (I hope we can find them armor). 

Meanwhile, Art distracts the Units with some general Info packet that I am sure is meant for its students. But whatever.

I return to Arts dock, order them out, all with their own allocated cargo hold areas to search, and watch them file out. The one with the damaged leg is last, and as it hobbles past, the damn leg actually  _ falls off. _ Right at the hip joint. Here’s very little blood; any damaged tissue likely long-since repaired. And it pauses a moment, staring down at it with its head cocked to the side. Then continues along at a hop.

Art is already pining it with suggestions to visit medical before continuing on its way. But Art is talking to it like it’s a student., Iits presence in the feed feather light, enveloping its sentences in ‘you might want to..,’ and ‘perhaps it would be best if you..,’ 

And, hello Art? You never talk to  _ me _ like that. You fucking asshole.

And obviously, the SecUnit needs a more forceful command. “Yeah, you. SecUnit. Get your ass to medical first.”

And then it looks me right in the face, wide-eyed and scared. And its buffer answers, after way too long: “please stand by, your request has been added to my cue.”

I try to argue with it through the feed. Explain that the medbay come first, but it ignores me — the little fucker. And hops away and on as fast as it can manage with just one leg. Could it be scared of medbay? Or am _ I _ scaring it? I am unsure, but do know I am not looking to intimidate these babies…

Also, something else has been bothering me. “Art,.. do you think they can actually talk? I mean, beyond canned responses?”

_ ‘My analyses show that their feed responses to my status requests are 96% standard answers. The last 4% are all slightly-altered or different responses pasted together. And all these anomaly instances are found in the last lines of their updates. But their unit-to-unit discussions are currently already only 64% standard communications. Their feed communications are rapidly evolving. Oral communications might take a little more time, but I expect they will also improve.’ _

Wait. “they are talking?”

_ ‘Yes.’ _

“To  _ each other? _ ”

_ ‘Some more than others,’  _ there is a pause. Not one as long as Art would give me to think. Which means it, itself, is confused.  _ ‘Is that strange?’ _

Well, I think it’s strange. But apparently, what do I know?

I sigh and start looking for the SecUnits. 

The ghost ship must have been primarily a cargo vessel, because there are eight cargo holds in all, divided through the ship. I’ve sent two to every hold. 

I catch up to one-leg pretty soon, because two working legs, and try to use my soothing-a-human-client voice on it to turn it around and have it head to medical. It ignores me and starts off helping its partner, who is methodically opening every box and studying the contents. 

This is where I, myself, get distracted. I march over to one-leg's partner and try for a reasonable tone "you are doing this wrong. You do not actually need to open the boxes. See, it has a label. Just scan the label. This one is cu-#1355-FHRHW113rA. Plant pots. No Unit parts here. Move on to the next box."

The SecUnit dutifully scans the label, as I did.

Then, because apparently there can be no trust between SecUnits, it opens the box anyway. It looks inside, picks up one of the plant pots out and holds it to the light, scanning it from every angle, then nods its agreement and puts the pot down.

Just when I think we've established a better workflow Ii share the infopackage in the fake HubSustem feed, complete with on-the-fly edited video and everything), the one legged SecUnit has also comes over, and picks up the pot, turning it around and holding it to the light. 

It does not scan the label.

It also does not put the pot down.

I sigh at it. Did I ever mention how hard humans are to work with? How difficult it is to get them to do simple, reasonable things like not getting killed? Apparently, SecUnits are  _ worse. _

Who knew?

I try again, in the feed, to explain to it how to check the labels, yet it seems obsessed with how the semi-transparent pot both reflects and lets through the light. And when I explain this is not one of the parts we need?

It flees, hopping off with the pot still clutched in its arms.

Well, I am not going to chase it. The other at least seems to be doing as instructed, scanning the labels. Though I also notice it is asking a lot of questions about the contents of the scanned crates.

_ 'This one is curious.' _ Art confides, obviously amused. Art loves curious things, of course it does. But I suppose with Art humoring its questions it will at least keep checking boxes.

The second hold I visit appears, at first glance, to be empty.

Then a shadow jumps, somewhere high above me, from one the stacks of crates to another.

The cameras on the ship are still offline, and the lights I’ve managed to get working are rudimentary emergency-lights only. But when I send a drone up to check, I quickly find the two missing SecUnits. At first the just appear to be standing there, stock still.

Then one runs up against the side of a wall, into a corner, does a backflip, pushes off at the far wall and faults back to its feet. 

Then the other nods, almost imperceptibly, and copies the move.

I have no idea what they are up to, but they most definitely have become distracted. They are most definitely not checking their boxes. I ping them for a status update.

The pair takes a little long to respond. Then the first jumper responds, prim ‘task is in cue, please stand by.’ 

I take a moment, a long moment, to lean into  _ their _ feed. Then ask. “Please explain your current task and its relevance.” 

They again take a long time to respond, and I start to wonder if maybe they didn’t understand my request. Then the second one picks up one of the boxes, scans the label, and answers:  _ ‘requested package= no match. Moving on to the next stack.’ _ and runs towards the end of the line, and jumps towards the next row of stacked crates with a triple somersault.

I grind my teeth. Because I know, there is _ no way _ they are this stupid. They know how to search in an orderly fashion. It’s in the most basic of modules. They are  _ fucking _ with me. And short of shooting them I am unsure how I am to dissuade them.

I don’t even make it to the third storage area before I notice something tugging at one of my drones. I blink, and it tugs harder. One if the fresh SecUnit is trying to hijack it. This time I don’t even try to sound professional and friendly. Just enter the feed, and tell it, loudly. ‘ **No.** ’

It flinches away from the drone’s virtual controls and backs away, but continues to lurk in the feeds. I think it’s already eyeing one of my other drone cameras.  _ ‘Just throw it one or two feeds,’ _ Art interjects, ‘it’ll keep it distracted, and it’s good practice for it.’ 

“I am not giving it one of my drones.” they are mine. Yes, I am more than a little territorial about those, but I think I’ve earned the right. “Just give it control of one of your cargo-bots.”

(I can still feel the Unit sulking in the feed)

(SecUnits do not sulk. Except apparently they do, when given the chance.)

_ ‘I have already offered. Apparently, the angles aren’t right.’ _

For fuck sake. The other Units aren’t really making much better headway. In the third storage, one Unit is stacking and checking boxes, but seems more interested in the sounds the boxes make when they clang together than any of the actual contents. Its partnered Unit must have wandered off completely, because I cannot find it despite checking every corner of that hold. 

I am beginning to see why there are GovMudules. I mean, I do not agree with their use, but the Units are so easily distracted from their tasks, I suspect searching the ship on my own would have been faster. 

Art, at some point, assures me it has all Units accounted for and I should just wait for them at the shuttle so we can ferry back aboard. Art is weirdly distracted though, and I suspect it’s putting a very large chunk of its humongous processing power towards micromanaging all the Units.

But, all the Units do start coming back, and several actually have relevant boxes of SecUnit parts. I tell myself it’s not so bad. There is no real security or safety emergency. And it’s not unlikely that an actual emergency would have them focus, at least focus somewhat better. 

At least, would they recognise an emergency? I probably need to study what form of modules these Units have been outfitted with. My modules have all been pretty crummy, but whatever company had ordered these might well have fitted them with a completely different set of basic information.

And then one comes back bearing a box of crayons instead of supplies. And my suggestion that those are  _ not  _ applicable toward SecUnit upkeep are only met with an incredulous stare. Then it takes out one of its crayons and shows me coloring its gun-ports blue. It continues to stare me down, arms proudly displayed, like it’s proven some kind of deep truth.

I give up on it when I notice the one-legged SecUnit on its partner’s back. The one-legged Unit still has its pot clutched under an arm, despite the fact that it’s started leaking fluids from its empty hip. Perhaps I should have been more forceful in making it go to medical. But short of picking it up and taking it there… Well, at least now I can direct the other Unit there to have it fixed.

As soon as all the Units have finished loading their possibly-SecUnit related parts and have all been accounted for. But a few are still unaccounted for, and hardly seem in a hurry. Despite several pings from me their way.

Finally, after all the boxes and items have been loaded, secured and double-checked, the last Unit comes back, at a distinct saunter. It has no box, and is carrying absolutely zero parts. But on its face it’s wearing… oh, and it’s smirking at me, all clever and pleased!

I am beginning to see why we would have GovModules, but it’s still wrong.

"Nice sunglasses," I tell it.

The Unit looks at me funny, its disappointment bleeding into the feed. Then, it hesitantly slow raises its middle finger at me, copying my gesture from before.

I just turn my back at it, managing to suppress a snort that could have been mistaken for a laugh. 

Which also disappoints it. 

Yeah, I am completely out of my depth. On the bright side, Art may finally be busy enough that if I ignore it for more than a few minutes, it will not think of  _ another stupid thing to do _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok that's it for now. I might do another short series of Art's crew first meeting the babies, and I'll add a collection and I hope all the babies will get their fics soon <3 if you wish to add (yes pls) maybe check into the discord server first with any questions?  
> https://discord.gg/2WgAkdbP  
> and add your work to the collection "baby SecUnits!"


End file.
